Something From The Nightside (8 page)

"No. I feel safer with you, wherever you are. My hero."

We shared a quick smile, and then I led the way down the corridor. The sound of gun-fire slowly grew louder, along with incoherent shouting and cursing. Lots more structural damage along the way, but still no bodies. Not even any blood. Which, given the sheer amount of gun-fire, was disturbing ... The corridor ended in a sharp right turn. We were right on top of the fire-fight now. I made sure Joanna was standing well back, and then peered quickly round the corner. Whereupon everything became extremely clear. I should have known. I sighed deeply, and stepped round the corner and into clear view. I raised my voice, cold and commanding and really annoyed.

"Everybody cut it out, right now! "

The shooting stopped immediately. Silence fell across the corridor before me. Smoke curled thickly on the still air. At the far end of the corridor, a whole crowd of people were sheltering behind furniture they'd dragged out of adjoining rooms to pile into a barricade. I counted at least twenty different kinds of

guns protruding through the improvised barricade before I gave up. Most of them looked to be full automatic. And facing them, at my end of the corridor, was a tall blonde in black leathers, with a pump-action shotgun in her hands, kneeling behind her own improvised barricade. She looked back at me and nodded briskly.

"John. Heard you were back. Be with you in a minute, soon as I've dealt with this bunch of self-abuse experts."

"Put your gun down, Suzie," I said sternly. "I mean it. No more shooting from anyone. Or I am going to get seriously cranky with everyone. Suddenly and violently and all over the place."

"Oh hell," said a voice from behind the far barricade. "As if things weren't bad enough, now John Taylor's here. I could spit. All right, which of you idiots upset him?"

Suzie Shooter stood up and snarled at me. She had to be in her late twenties now, and still looked good enough to eat. If you didn't mind a meal that would very definitely bite back. As always, Suzie was dressed in black motorcycle leathers, adorned with steel chains and studs, and two bandoliers of bullets crossing her impressive chest. Knee-length leather boots with steel toe-caps completed the look. Suzie had seen Girl on a Motorcycle and Easy Rider more times than was healthy, and loved every Hell's Angels movie Roger Corman ever made.

She had a striking face, with a strong bone structure, ending in a determined jaw, and she kept her shoulder-length straw-blonde hair back out of her face with a leather headband supposedly fashioned from the hide of the first man she'd killed. When she was twelve. Her eyes were a very dark blue, cold and unwavering, and her tightly pursed mouth rarely relaxed into a smile, except in the midst of mayhem and bloodshed, where she felt most at home. She'd never been known to suffer fools gladly, spent her money as fast as it came in, and in general kicked arse with vim and enthusiasm. She liked to say she had no friends and her enemies were dead, but a few people have been known to sneak their way into her life, almost despite her. I, for my sins, was one of them.

Standing there, set against the curling smoke and swaying lights of the corridor, she looked like a Valkyrie from Hell.

"Let me guess," I said, just a little tiredly. "You smashed your way in, demanded they turn your bounty over to you, and when they declined, you declared war. Right?"

"I have serious paper on this guy," said Suzie. "And they were very rude to me."

I considered the matter. "I'm sure they're very sorry. Well, try not to kill them all, Suzie. I need someone alive and mostly intact to answer a few questions."

"Hey! Hold everything!" said the voice from behind the far barricade. "It's possible ... we may have been a bit hasty. Nobody here wants to take on Shotgun Suzie and John bloody Taylor unless it's absolutely necessary. Can't we talk about this?"

I looked at Suzie, who shrugged. "All they have to do is hand over my bounty, and I'm out of here."

"If we hand him over, you'll kill him," said the voice. "He came to us for sanctuary."

"The man has a point," I said. "You do tend towards bringing them in dead, rather than alive."

"Less paperwork," said Suzie.

I looked down the corridor at the twenty or so guns facing me. "If Suzie really wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. She's given you every chance. I really think you should consider surrendering."

"We guarantee the safety of people who come here," the voice said stubbornly. "That's who we are. Why we are. We're willing to discuss a deal, but we won't betray our principles."

I looked at Suzie. "What poor soul are you after, this time?"

"No-one important. Just some scumbag lawyer who grabbed a client's settlement money and did a runner with it. Five million pounds, and change. I'm down for ten per cent of whatever I recover."

"A lawyer?' said the voice. "Oh hell, why didn't you say? If we'd known he was one of them, we'd have given him to you."

I smiled at Suzie. "Another triumph for common sense and diplomacy in action. You see how easy it is, if you just try a little reason first?"

Suzie growled, lowering her shotgun for the first time. "I hate being reasonable. It's bad for my reputation."

I turned back to the far barricade, so she wouldn't see me smile. "I'm here looking for a teenage runaway, name of Cathy Barrett. Who may have got herself into more trouble than she realises. Name ring any bells?"

"I'm not coming out while Suzie's still there," said the voice from behind the barricade.

"You don't have to come out," I said patiently. "Just answer the question. Unless you want me to get a bit peeved with you too."

"Cathy was here," the voice said quickly, "but she took off, a week or so back. Said something was calling to her. Something wonderful. We all tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen. And this isn't a prison, so... She said something about Blaiston Street. And that's all I know."

"Thank you," I said. "You've been very helpful."

"Not like we had much of a choice," said the voice. "Word's already going around about what you did to those poor bastards outside Strangefellows. They're still mopping up the mess."

I just nodded. It wasn't the first time things had been attributed to me that were none of my doing.

Eddie probably started this particular rumour, as a way of saying sorry. It helps to have a reputation for being a bit of a bastard. People will believe anything of you.

"I'll leave you and Suzie to sort this out between you," I said. "Just give her everything she asks for, and you shouldn't have any more problems with her."

"Thanks a whole bunch," said the voice bitterly. "I think I'd rather face the aliens again."

I gestured for Suzie to step around the corner for a moment, so we could talk privately. I introduced her to Joanna, and the two women smiled at each other. I just knew they weren't going to get on.

"So," said Suzie, "found another lost lamb to look after, have you, John?"

"It's a living," I said. "Been a while, Suzie."

"Five years, three months. I always knew you'd come crawling back to me someday."

"Sorry, Suzie. I'm only here because I'm working a case. Soon as I find my runaway, I'm out of here. Back to the safe, sane, everyday world."

She stepped forward, fixing me with her wild, serious gaze. "You'll never fit in there, John. You belong here. With the rest of us monsters."

I didn't have an answer for that, so Joanna stepped into the silence. "What, precisely, is your connection with John, Miss Shooter?"

Suzie snorted, loudly. "I shot him once, but he got

over it. Paper I had on him turned out to be fake. We've worked together, on and off. Good man in a tight corner. And he always leads me where the action is. The real action. Never a dull moment, when John's around."

"Is that all there is to your life?" said Joanna. "Violence, and killing?"

"It's enough," said Suzie.

I decided the conversation had gone about as far as it was safe for it to go, and turned to Joanna. "I know Blaiston Street. Not far from here. Bad neighbourhood, even for the Nightside. If Cathy has gone to ground there, the sooner we find her, the better."

"Need any help?" said Suzie.

I looked at her thoughtfully. "Wouldn't say no, if you're offering. You busy?"

She shrugged. "Things have been quiet recently. I hate quiet. Just let me finish up here and collect what I'm owed, and I'll catch up with you. Usual fee?"

"Sure," I said. "My client's good for it."

Suzie looked at Joanna. "She'd better be."

Joanna started to say something, noticed that Suzie's shotgun was pointing right at her, and very sensibly decided not to take offence. She ostentatiously turned her back on Suzie, and fixed her attention on me.

"At least now we've got an address. What are the odds Cathy could have got into serious trouble there?"

"Hard to say, without knowing what drew her there. I wouldn't have thought there was anything on Blaiston Street to attract anyone. There isn't anywhere lower, except maybe the sewers. It's where you end up when you can't fall any further. Unless things have changed dramatically, since I was away. Suzie?"

She shook her head. "Still a snake pit. If you burned the street down, the whole city would smell better."

"Don't worry," I said quickly to Joanna. "She's your daughter. You said yourself she can look after herself. And we're right on her heels now."

"Don't put money on it," said Joanna, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Cathy's always been good at giving people the slip."

"Not people like us," I said confidently.

"There are no people like us," said Suzie Shooter.

"Thank God," said the voice from behind the far barricade.

Seven

Where the Really Wild Things Are

J
oanna and I left Suzie Shooter intimidating the entire Fortress through the sheer force of her appalling personality, and headed for Blaiston Street. Where the wild things are. Every city has at least one area where all the rules have broken down, where humanity comes and goes, and civilisation is a sometime thing. Blaiston Street is the kind of area where no-one has ever paid any rent, where even the little comforts of life go only to the strongest, and plague rats go around in pairs because they're frightened. It's mob rule, on the few occasions when the brutal inhabitants can get their act together long enough to form a mob. They live in the dark because they like

it that way. Because that way they can't see how far they've fallen. Drink, drugs and despair are the order of the day on Blaiston Street, and no-one ends up there by accident. Which made Cathy's choice of destination all the more disturbing. What on earth, or under it, could have called a vital, mostly sensible young girl like her to such a place?

What did she think was waiting for her there?

It was raining, soft pitterpatters of blood temperature that made the streets glisten with the illusion of freshness. The air was heavy with the smell of restaurants, of cuisines from a hundred times and places, not all of them especially appealing. The ever-present neon seemed subtly out of focus behind the rain, and the people passing by had hungry, angry faces. The Nightside was getting into its stride.

"This is a hell of a place," Joanna said abruptly.

"Sometimes literally," I said. "But it has its attractions. Just as it's always the bad boy that makes the good girl's heart beat that little bit faster, so it's the darker pleasures that seduce us out of the everyday world, and into the Nightside."

Joanna snorted. "I always thought you could find every kind of pleasure in London. I've seen the postcards in public phone kiosks, advertising perversion at reasonable rates. Every kind of sex, with and without bodily contact, performed by people of every kind of sex. And a few proudly in between. Pre-op, post-op, during the op ... I mean, what's left?"

"Trust me," I said seriously. "You really don't want to know. Now change the subject."

"All right. What was it like, growing up here, in the Nightside?" Joanna looked at me earnestly. "This must have been ... an unusual place, for a child."

I shrugged. "It was all I knew. When miracles and wonders happen every day, they lose their powers to amaze. This is a magical place, in every sense of the word, and if nothing else, growing up here was never boring. Always some new trouble to get into, and what more could a curious child ask for? And it's a great place to learn self-discipline. When they tell you to behave or the bogeyman will get you, they aren't necessarily kidding here. You either learn to be a survivor early on, or you don't get to grow up. You can't trust anyone to watch your back for you ... not friends or family. But there's an honesty to that, at least.

'This all seems normal to me, Joanna. Your world, the calm and reasonable, mostly logical, everyday London was a revelation to me. Safe, sane, reassuringly predictable ... There's a deal of comfort in being blessedly anonymous, of knowing that sometimes things can just happen, with no great significance, for you or anyone else. The Nightside is lousy with omens and prophecies, and intrusions and interventions from Above and Below. But though your world is mostly secure and protected, it's also... grey, boring, and bloody hard to earn a living in. I'll

go back there, when I'm through with this case, but I couldn't honestly say whether that's because I prefer it, or because I've lost my touch in how to survive in a place of gods and monsters."

"This Blaiston Street," said Joanna. "It sounds a dangerous location, even for the Nightside. Are you sure Cathy was heading there?"

I stopped, and she stopped with me. It was a question I'd been asking myself. The voice at the Fortress might have said anything, just to get rid of us, and get Suzie off his back. I would have. But... it was my only lead. I scowled, frustrated, and the people passing by gave us a little more room. I've always been able to find anything with my gift. That was how I'd made my reputation. To be back in the Nightside, and blind in my private eye, was almost too much to bear. I ought to be able to pick up at least a glimpse of her, if she really was so close, on Blaiston Street.

I lashed out with my mind, hitting the night like a hammer-blow, forcing my gift out across the secret terrains of the hidden world. It beat on the air, wild and angry, pushing open locked doors with grim abandon, and people around me clutched their heads, cried out and shrank away. My hands closed into fists at my sides, and I could feel myself smiling that old vicious smile, that wolf on a trail smile, from a time when nothing mattered but getting to the truth. There was a sick, vicious pain throbbing in my left temple. I could do myself some serious damage by forcing

my gift beyond its natural limits, after so long asleep, but right then I was so angry and frustrated I didn't care.

I could feel her out there, Cathy, not long gone, her traces still vibrating on the membrane of the hidden world, but it was like reaching out for something you can sense in the dark, but not see. Someone, some thing, didn't want me to see her. My smile widened nastily. Hell with that. I pushed harder, and it was like slamming my mind against a barbed-wire fence. Blood was dripping steadily from my left nostril now, and I couldn't feel my hands. Serious damage. And then some tension, some defence, broke under my determination, and Cathy's ghost sprang into being before me. It was a recent image, a manifestation only days old, shimmering right there on the street before me. I grabbed Joanna's hand so she could see it too. Cathy hurried down the street, really striding out, and we hurried after her. Her face sparkled and shimmered, but there was no mistaking the broad smile on her face. She was listening to something only she could hear, something wonderful, that called to the very heart of her, and it was drawing her in like an angler plays a fish, leading her straight to Blaiston Street. The smile was the most terrible thing. I couldn't think of anything in my life I'd ever wanted as much as Cathy clearly wanted what the unheard voice was promising her.

"Something's calling her," said Joanna, gripping my hand so hard it hurt.

"Summoning her," I said. "Like the Sirens called the Greek sailors of old. It could be a lie, but it might not. This is the Nightside, after all. What disturbs the hell out of me is that I can't even sense the shape of whatever it is that's out there. As far as my gift's concerned, there's nothing there, never has been. Nothing at all. Which implies major shields, and really heavy-duty magic. But something that powerful should have showed up on everyone's radar the moment it appeared in the Nightside. The whole place should be buzzing with the news. A new major player could upset everyone's apple carts. But no one knows it's here ... except me. And I'm damned if I can even guess what anything that powerful would want with a teenage runaway."

Cathy's ghost snapped out, despite everything I could do to hang on to it. My gift retreated back into my head and slammed the door shut after it. The headache was really bad now, and for a moment all I could do was stand there in the middle of the pavement, eyes clenched shut, fighting to hold my thoughts together. When this case was finally over, I was going to need some serious healing time. I opened my eyes and Joanna offered me a handkerchief, gesturing at my nose. I dabbed at my left nostril until the bleeding finally gave up. I hadn't even felt her let go of my hand. I was pushing myself way

too hard, for my first time back. Joanna stood close to me, trying to comfort me with her presence. The headache quickly faded away. I gave Joanna her bloodied handkerchief back, she received it with a certain dignity, and we set off towards Blaiston Street again. I didn't mention my lapse, and neither did she.

"Is Suzie really as dangerous as everyone seems to think she is?" said Joanna, after a while, just to be saying something.

"More, if anything," I said honestly. "She built her reputation on the bodies of her enemies, and a complete willingness to take risks even Norse berserkers would have balked at. Suzie doesn't know the meaning of the word fear. Other concepts she has trouble grasping are restraint, mercy and self-preservation."

Joanna had to laugh. "Damn it, John; don't you know any normal people here?"

I laughed a little myself. "There are no normal people here. Normal people would have more sense than to stick around in a place like this."

We walked on, and though people were giving me plenty of room, no-one even glanced at me. Privacy is greatly valued in the Nightside, if only because so many of us have so much to hide. The traffic roared past, never stopping, rarely slowing, always in such a hurry to be somewhere else, to be doing something somebody else would be sure to disapprove of. There are no traffic lights in the Nightside. No-one would pay them any attention anyway. There are no official

street crossings, either. You get to the other side of the street through courage and resolve and intimidating the traffic to get out of your way. Though I'm told bribery is also pretty effective. I looked at Joanna, and asked her a question I'd been putting off for too long. Now we were finally getting close to Cathy, I felt I needed to know the answer.

"You said this wasn't the first time Cathy ran away. Why does she keep running away, Joanna?"

"I try to spend time with her," said Joanna, looking straight ahead. "Quality time, when I can. But it isn't always possible. I lead a very busy life. I work all the hours God sends, just to stay in one place. It's ten times harder for a woman than a man, to get ahead and stay ahead in the business world. The people I have to deal with every day would eat sharks for breakfast, as an appetizer, and have turned betrayal and back-stabbing into a fine art. I work bloody hard, for the security Cathy takes for granted, to get the money to pay for all the things she just has to have. Though Heaven forfend she should show the slightest interest in the business that makes her comfortable world possible."

"Do you enjoy your work?"

"Sometimes."

"Ever thought about trying something else?"

"It's what I'm good at," she said, and I had to nod. I knew all about that.

"No stepfathers?" I said casually. "Or father figures? Someone else she could turn to, talk to?"

"Hell, no. I swore I'd never make the mistake of being tied to a man again," Joanna said fiercely. "Not after what Cathy's father put me through, just because he thought he could. I'm my own woman now, and whoever comes into my life does so on my terms. Not a lot of men can cope with that. And I have trouble hanging on to the few that can. The work, again. Still, Cathy never wanted for anything she really needed. I raised her to be bright, and sharp, and independent."

"Even from you?" I said quietly. Joanna wouldn't even look at me.

And that was when the world suddenly changed. The living city disappeared, and abruptly we were somewhere else. Somewhere much worse. Joanna and I stumbled on for a few steps, caught off guard, and then we stopped and looked quickly about us. The street was empty of people and the road was empty of traffic. Most of the buildings surrounding us were nothing more than ruins and rubble. The taller buildings had apparently collapsed, long ago, and everywhere I looked nothing was more than a storey or two high. I could see for miles now, all the way to the horizon, and it was all destruction and devastation. I turned in a slow circle, and everywhere was the same. We had come to a dead place. London, the Nightside, the old city, was now a thing of the

past. Something bad had come, and stamped it all flat.

It was very dark now, with all the street-lights and the glaring neon gone. What light there was had a dull, purple cast, as though the night itself was bruised. It was hard to make out anything clearly. There were shadows everywhere, very deep and very dark. Not a normal light to be seen anywhere, in any of the wrecked and tumbledown buildings; not even the flicker of a camp-fire. We were all alone, in the night. Joanna fumbled in her bag and finally produced her cigarette lighter. Her hands shook so much it took her half a dozen goes to get it to light. The warm yellow flame seemed out of place in such a night, and the glow didn't travel far. She held the lighter up high as we looked around, trying to get some sense of where we were, although I already had a sinking feeling I knew what had happened.

It was quiet. Very quiet. No sounds at all, save for the shuffling of our feet and our own unsteady breathing. Such utter quiet was eerie, unsettling. The roar of the city was gone, along with its inhabitants. London had been silenced, the hard way. I only had to look around in the awful purple light to know that we had come to an empty place. The heavy silence was almost overpowering, until I felt like shouting out... something, just to emphasize my presence. But I didn't. There might have been something listening. Even worse, there might not.

I'd never felt so alone in my life.

All around us the buildings were squat, deformed, their shapes altered and the edges softened by exposure to wind and rain. Long exposure. All the windows were empty, every trace of glass gone, and I couldn't see a single doorway with a door; just dark openings, like eyes or mouths, or maybe wounds. There was something almost unbearably sad in seeing such a mighty city brought so low. All those centuries of building and expanding, all those many lives supporting and giving it purpose, all for nothing, in the end. I moved slowly forward, and puffs of dust sprang up around my feet. Joanna made a noise at the back of her throat and moved slowly after me.

It was cold. Stark and bitter cold, as though all the heat had gone out of the world. The air was still, with not even a breath of wind blowing. Our footsteps seemed very loud in the quiet, loud and carrying as we walked down the middle of what had once been a street, through what had once been a vital, thriving place. We were both shivering now, and it had nothing to do with the cold. This was a bad place, and we didn't belong here. Off in the distance, broken buildings stood blackly against the horizon in jagged silhouettes, shadows of what they had once been. The city, inside and out, was over.